


Broken Minds

by darlingdisastrous



Category: Suspiria (1977), Suspiria (2019), The Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - Suspiria, Ballet, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Bugs & Insects, Character Turned Into Vampire, Dark, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dark Fantasy, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Entomophobia, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fear, Fivesome - F/M/M/M/M, Gothic, Hallucinations, Horror, Human/Vampire Relationship, Inspired by Suspiria, Maggots, Mates, Mating Bites, Mating Rituals, Mental Breakdown, Mental Coercion, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Murder, Murder Mystery, Polyamory, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Reader is a ballet dancer, Reincarnation, School of Dance, Secrets, Sensuality, Theatre, Unhealthy Relationships, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Vomiting, ballet academy, the boys are ballet dancers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29310978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingdisastrous/pseuds/darlingdisastrous
Summary: "Bad luck isn't brought by broken mirrors, but broken minds" - Suspiria (1977)You are accepted into the Tanz-Sanguis Academy of Dance after the untimely death of a student leads to a vacancy at the school.  Your roommate is paranoid of staff and the four orphan boys who live there, who’ve taken a keen interest in you.
Relationships: David (Lost Boys)/Reader, David (Lost Boys)/You, Dwayne (Lost Boys)/Reader, Dwayne (Lost Boys)/You, Marko (Lost Boys)/Reader, Marko (Lost Boys)/You, Paul (Lost Boys)/Reader, Paul (Lost Boys)/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

The Tanz-Sanguis Academy of Dance towered over you in a hulking, red mass. It curves around you, until you’re completely surrounded. There’s only one way in and one way out: the winding dirt road which you road up on this very moment.

You press your nose against the glass, staring in awe at the school, which might as well have been a fairytale castle.

It didn’t seem real, to finally be here at the school of your dreams. Your mother thought it was foolish to pursue dance; and, honestly, when you received that first rejection letter you were prepared to give it up, but then, a miracle happened: they changed their mind.

Oh, the fight with your mother had been blown to epic proportions. Insults were thrown on both sides, words the two of you could never take back, but you were here and that was all that mattered. You paid the driver and dragged your luggage out onto the pavement. In the blink of an eye, the taxi was gone and you were left alone.

It’s a beautiful fall evening. The sky was a burnt orange as the sunset, somewhere behind the academy. A flock of birds flew over your head, twittering merrily. You took in the moment, committing it to memory. The tranquility of it all weighed heavily on your shoulders because you knew it wouldn’t last. You took a deep breath, then push onward.

You push the intercom, shifting your weight. After a moment, the little light turned green. A female voice answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, I’m Y/N L/N. I’m a new student.”

You hold your breath. A sneaking sensation of anxiety creeps up on you. _What if they’ve never heard of you?_ _What if it was all a big mistake—a hoax?_ Or, worst of all, _what if they didn’t want you anymore?_ Oh, God. You’d get down on your knees and beg them to take you if it came to that. You had no place to go other than here. Your mother certainly wouldn’t welcome you back, not after that fight.

The intercom buzzes to life, the front door unlocking with a click. “Come on in.”

Quickly, you shoulder the door open, revealing the vast expanse of the foyer. It’s a lot to take in all at once. The modern, black-and-white geometric designs on the floor clash with the Victorian blue wallpaper. A series of candelabras and gas-lamps line the walls.

Students mill about, speaking in hushed tones, but the moment you step through those doors all conversation stops. You’re faced with a dozen-or-so people staring. _Scrutinizing_. You’ve never felt so small in your entire life.

You shut the door behind you, paying attention to everything except the gawking students. Something about the room, aside from its jarring mix of new and old, is off-putting but you’re not sure why.

Then, it hits you. _Windows_ , you realize. _This place has no windows_.

“Y/N?”

You look up.

A woman, in her early forties with cropped, blonde hair walks towards you. She wears a serene smile like an accessory and open arms to give you a quick hug.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. Really. We couldn’t be more thrilled to have you here.” She gave you a squeeze before letting you go. “I’m Lucy Emerson, the assistant director here at TSAD. Was your trip okay?”

“Yeah. I slept most of the way.”

The corner of her eyes crinkle. “Oh, good. You came at the perfect time. Breakfast is about to be served.”

Tanz-Sanguis was a night school. You’re not sure why; some theorized that it was a place of satanic worship. Others said it was because the director had an acute sun allergy. You took all that with a grain of salt. The rumors were just that: rumors. Probably made up by kids who hadn’t been accepted.

As the two walked through the foyer, it became increasingly difficult to ignore. They didn’t move but followed you with their gaze. You kept your eyes to the floor, hoping if you didn’t acknowledge them then they would stop.

“Don’t mind them,” said Lucy, as if reading your mind. “They’re not used to seeing new students. It’s a tight-knit group. First years usually make friends with first years, the second years with second years and so forth. You didn’t arrive with the crowd so they’re wondering where you’re going to fit in. But I have no doubt that you’ll make fast friends.”

Lucy smiled at a nearby student, who quickly looked away. “You’re excused from tonight’s classes, although I would encourage you to sit in on one or two of them just to get a feel for the place. It’ll take a few days for you to get used to our nocturnal schedule, no one’s expecting you to adjust that fast unless of course you’re already used to it.”

“No, this is my first time.”

She wrapped her arm around your shoulders in a very motherly way. “No worries, sweetie. You can leave your bags here, I’ll have someone send them up to your room. For now, follow me.”

Lucy lead you towards the stairs, which spiraled around the length of the room. “We are primarily a ballet academy, as you know, but we teach all styles of dance here at TSAD. As a new student, you will be automatically enrolled in our level one contemporary and level one jazz. These classes are important, so please don’t slack off.

“Now, since you’re on scholarship, you’ll be given a job to do around the school. It won’t be anything too taxing, but you will work for your pay,” she explains softly. “We have you lined up to start in the costume department two nights from now. Do you have any experience in sewing?”

“Uh, a little.”

“Well, I’m sure they won’t give you anything too complex. You’ll most likely be sorting the different costumes or put on laundry duty.”

Lucy gave you the basics: she showed you the cafeteria, which was a minuscule grey room. Instead of windows, there were televisions posted on every wall. The same ballet played on every screen, the _Rite of Spring_ , which was the school’s end-of-year production. Despite it being the most communal room of the school, it was hushed. The people who did speak didn’t raise their voices above a whisper. All eyes were on the screens or their meal trays.

After the (frankly, depressing) cafeteria, Lucy showed you the showers.

“They’re communal,” she explained, “but private. Just be mindful when you go in there and, please, only use it for showering. If we catch any improper behavior, you will be expelled.”

You tried not to be embarrassed by her words, but you knew that it must’ve happened often enough to warrant a warning.

Each dorm room had a connective bathroom, but they only had enough space for a toilet and a sink. She told you that the studios were located on the second floor (the first being faculty offices and guest rooms) while the students all roomed on the third floor. Then there was the attic, which was mainly used for storage. The auditorium was in a completely different wing and would warrant a tour of its own, as there was too much ground to cover there then you had the time for.

“And here is your room.” She stopped in front of a lacquered black door. The number twenty-four was drilled into the face of the wood in bronze letters. She knocked once before opening it. “Star?”

“Come in!”

Lucy pushed open the door further and ushered you inside. “Star is one of our company performers, so the two of you won’t have many classes together, except for a conditioning class. Star, this is Y/N.”

A girl peeked her head around the corner of, what you assume, was the bathroom. Star had a mouthful of bobby pins, which muffled her speech. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

Lucy squeezed your shoulders. “I’ll leave you in her capable hands. If you need anything, feel free to ask. Bye girls.”

You gingerly sit on the unoccupied bed and take a look around. The room is small, in fact, you’re amazed they were able to fit two twin beds inside. You notice that the dressers seem to be tucked away underneath the beds in order to preserve space. There is one, lone window in the room with thickly frosted glass. It’s so opaque that you can’t see outside and the light is dimmed significantly. A beaded blackout curtain is tied off to the side.

You toe off your shoes, leaving them against the wall. Your dance shoes were still inside your bags downstairs and you had no idea when they would be sent up. The socks would have to do. You mindlessly point and flex your toes, working out the stiffness that overtook your muscles during the flight.

“Y/N, is it?” You nod. “How are you liking the school so far?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” you admit. “It’s so big—it’s like a castle. I don’t know how I’ll learn where everything is.”

“They give new students maps,” said Star. “But it doesn’t help. I’ve been here for four years now and _I_ still get lost.” Your smile slips off of your face, but when Star smiles, you realize she’s teasing. She slings her pointe shoes over her shoulder and holds a hand out for you. “C’mon. You’re shadowing me today. Class starts in ten.”

You stood with your back to the mirror, hanging back near the pianist while the students ran through their drills. Two at a time, they did a series of _tour jetés_ across the length of the room.

“There is no _ron de jombe_ in a _tour jeté_!” shouts Ms. Tanner. She paces on front of the dancers, hands clasped together and lips pressed in a sour expression. “Alexa, drop your hip.”

Star stands near you inconspicuously, marking the routine. She speaks in hushed tones, just loud enough for you to hear her. “Tanner is hard. She’ll suck the life out of you given half the chance.”

You bite your tongue stifling a laugh, shooting her a look that says dude shut up. It was your first day (or, night) and you didn’t want to gain a negative reputation. You turn your attention back towards the line, where the next pair of students lined up. A boy and a girl. The girl completed the routine in a way that was technically clean, but all around too stiff. The boy, however...

“He’s amazing.”

“Oh, God, don’t let him hear you say that.” Star _grand battemant_ ed to one side, mimicking the current pair, and rolled her eyes. “His head is big enough as it is.”

Unable to tear your gaze away, you watched him until he ran off to the side, where he rejoined a group of three boys. They didn’t speak so much as they made vague facial expressions, as if communicating telepathically. Then, David looked up. You’re pinned to the spot, like a deer caught in headlights. There was something familiar about him.

Realizing you’ve been staring too long, you look away.

Star noted your curiosity and stated, “That’s David and his brothers. They’ve been here longer than anyone else.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t get mixed up with them, especially David. He’s bad news.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to. Trust me.” There was a note of finality to her tone. “Something’s not right about them. They’re like a pack of wild animals, and they’ll eat you alive given half the chance.” She clenched her jaw, eyes darting behind you, presumably at David. “Shit, he’s staring. Don’t look.”

But, you did. You turn your body in a way that you could see him through the mirror. He _was_ staring.

“Why?”

“The man’s sadistic. Probably sees you as a new chew toy.” Star touched your wrist. “Just ignore him. He’ll get bored in a week and will never bother you again. He’s just gotta be _annoying_ first.” She narrowed her eyes, shooting him a dirty look.

You knew you shouldn’t have, but you looked back through the mirror as discreetly as possible. His gaze hadn’t wavered, but instead of that stony expression from before, he was smirking. Your heart skipped a beat.

Another dancer sauntered towards you once she finished her _tour jetés_. Star made a face, then went back to marking the combination. 

“Hey Star,” she purred. “And you’re Y/N, right? You’re cute. Can you dance?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t.”

She laughed breathily like she was trying too hard to be seductive. “I like you, you’re funny. Star, here, never likes my jokes.”

Star didn’t react to that. She didn’t so much as glance her way again.

The girl hummed and leaned against the mirrors, looking out onto the rest of the company members. “It must be weird for you, to be here, I mean. Considering the circumstances.”

“Not really.”

Her eyebrows shot upwards, “Really? You’re okay with it?”

“I mean ... yeah?” Your gut tightens. Why do you get the feeling she knows something you don’t?

“Never took you for the sadistic type,” she says, playing with her nails. “But I guess it really is _whatever_. Sometimes you have to profit off of other people’s misfortunes to succeed in life.”

You frown, “I don’t understand?

Star snapped, unable to ignore her any longer. “Olga.”

Olga looked between the two of you, then laughed unashamedly loud. Ms. Tanner shot the three of you a nasty look and you shrank back. Now would be a perfect time to be invisible.

“You don’t _know_ , do you?” She leered over you, caught between amused and shocked. “Nobody told you?”

“Miss Magnolfi,” snapped Ms. Tanner. “I’m teaching a class here. All discussions can wait until the end unless you have something you wish to share.”

Olga bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Ms. Tanner.”

Her tone was anything but sincere; however, Ms. Tanner let it slide and resumed her counting.

You lean forward and whisper, “What don’t I know?”

“It’s nothing.” Star lays her hand on your arm, “Olga likes to tease the newbies. She doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.”

Olga rolled her eyes. “I’d be doing her a disservice if I didn’t tell her. Someone’s got to.” She leaned in close, her lips nearly touching your ear. “The only reason you’re here is because one of our own, Patricia, _died_.”

You wait for the punchline, but Olga pulls back, watching you like a hawk. You turn to Star, but she might as well have been a blank wall. Her eyes were full of fire. If looks could kill...

“You’re not serious, are you?”

For a moment, Olga’s expression transformed into that of pity. “You really didn’t know.”

Nausea bubbles in your stomach. You swallow hard. Your mouth is suddenly very dry.

“They gave you her spot, stuck you in her old room. Why I wouldn’t be surprised if they gave you her old job. Costume department?” Your eyes go wide. Olga shakes her head. “You’re her _replacement_.”

It clicked. All the staring—all the whispers. You thought it was because you were new, not because of ... _this_. Even now, you could feel their gazes. They were looking at you out of the corner of their eyes, gauging your reaction. They knew you knew.

“I’ve got to go.” You’re not sure if you even said it out loud. Your blood was rushing in your ears. Your fingertips were numb.

You practically ran out of the studio, and you didn’t stop to explain to Ms. Tanner or apologize. You just ran.

Star sat awkwardly on the edge of your bed, staring at the wall.

If you were honest with yourself, you never considered why you might’ve been accepted. Especially this late into the year. Classes had already been in session for a month, by now. Everyone was settled into a routine. It made no sense to accept a girl this late into the semester; unless, of course, something happened to one of their students.

Which it did.

You were profiting off of some poor girl’s misfortune.

You clutch your pillow with an iron grip. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“They didn’t think it was important.” She toed the floor, her voice strained, like she was trying to hold back tears of her own. “They probably thought you wouldn’t care how you were admitted. Besides, it’s too soon.”

“When did it happen?”

She swallowed hard. “A little over a week ago.”

_Oh, God_. If it was possible, you felt even worse. You hugged the pillow even tighter, rolling onto your side. “What ... happened to her?”

Star winced, eyes glassy. “She was ... she was murdered.”

You sat bolt upright, eyes wide as saucers. “Murdered?” You’re gonna get sick. “Oh, my God. I thought ... When Olga said she died, I didn’t think ... I don’t know. Not that.”

Murdered. A girl your age murdered. You were picked to fill a spot because the poor girl had been _killed_.

Quietly, you ask, ”Did they catch the guy?”

A single tear trickles down her cheek. Her voice, despite being weak, is fueled with disgust. “The investigation’s ongoing, but they aren’t trying hard enough. There’s only so many people it could’ve been. It happened here. In the school.”

“In the school...” you echo. You touch your throat. Rationally, you knew murder happened everywhere. Even the most sacred of places could be defiled by it. But you never in a million years considered that it would happen here.

TSAD is a _private_ school. They had security measures, a door that only unlocked if someone in the administration office unlocked it. The only road into this place was the only exit, too. The school was surrounded by dense woods, so it would be nearly impossible for someone to sneak inside.

So, there really were only so many people it could’ve been. Someone inside the school. Suddenly, you didn’t feel safe. You felt like an animal trapped in a very dangerous cage.

Star continued, unprompted. “I found her in the foyer ... She had these wounds all over her body like she was chewed up by an animal. And then, they pushed her, those animals, they pushed her off the second floor.” Star squeezed her eyes shut, shuddering. “I nearly didn’t recognize her, but I knew. I woke up with this ... feeling. Just a feeling, in my gut, that something was wrong. And as soon as I saw it...”

“You found her?”

She nodded mutely. There was nothing else she could say. There was true pain behind her eyes. She wiped her eyes, looking away. The ten-minute warning bell rang, warning that lunch break would be over soon.

“I’m sorry.” You pick at your leggings. “It must be torture ... the not knowing, and having to put up with your friend’s replacement.”

“You’re _not_ her replacement,” she insisted. That was just Olga being a bitch. She wants to get under your skin. It’s tradition to pick on the newbie.”

“You didn’t.”

She laughs, “I don’t have the energy to.”

You give her hand a squeeze, a silent _I’m here for you_. You’ve already pried too much so you know she won’t say anything else to you any time soon, but the offer stands.

A knock comes at the door.

The two of you flinch. Neither of you is fit for company, but Star has it worse so you rise to your feet. “Coming!”

Star takes refuge in the bathroom.

You open the door to reveal an attractive boy. He’s tall and rail-thin, but not without muscle. His blond hair is tied back in a low ponytail, bangs sweeping either side of his face. You saw him before, in the company class you’d gone to with Star. David’s brother.

You know you’re staring, but you can’t help it. He’s ... _gorgeous_. His oceanic eyes settle on you, lips quirking upwards.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper.

He lifts his arms, revealing what he carried. “These yours?”

“Oh.” Your suitcases. Of course, Lucy said she’d be sending someone up with them. You’re not sure what you expected. “Yeah, they are. Here, let me take those from you.”

You take two of the bags from him, but can’t manage the third so you leave it with him. He lays it down beside the door while you pile the boxes on top of your bed. When you turn back, he’s still there.

“Thank you very much.”

“No problem.” He flashes you an award-winning smile. Butterflies swarm your stomach. “I’m Paul, by the way.”

He extended his hand, which you hesitantly took. A jolt shot through you the moment you took his hand, like an electrical shock. As if he can feel it too, he tightens his grip, pulling you closer.

“You’re Y/N, right?”

For a moment, you’re flattered. He knows your name. But the feeling sours when you remember why he (probably) knows your name. _The dead girl’s replacement_.

“Yeah,” you say flatly. “It’s nice to meet you. Thanks again for bringing my stuff.”

You move to shut the door, but he stops it. “Wait, don’t go!” 

“Why?”

“ _Because_. We don’t usually get transfers as cute as you.” He captures his tongue between his teeth, eyes raking up and down your form. “Where you from, sugar?”

You study him cautiously. He didn’t seem like he was pursuing this conversation out of morbid curiosity—but you couldn’t be sure. Something about him screamed _tease_. So, again, you ask, “Why?”

He threw your sarcasm back at you, “Cause I think you’re cute, weren’t you listening? Want me to shout it—cause I will. I’ll let the whole damn floor know what a _hottie they’ve got—_!”

“Dude!”

You slap your hand over his mouth, effectively muffling him, but it doesn’t stop you from earning a few curious looks from those outside. Paul wiggles his eyebrows, puckering his lips to kiss your palm. You pull away, looking anywhere but at him.

“You don’t need to be shy, sugar. I’m harmless.” He braces his arm on the doorframe, just above your head. “Did I cheer you up?”

“What?”

“You don’t look so glum anymore, did I cheer you up?” When you still didn’t get it, Paul sighed. “When you answered the door, you didn’t seem too happy.”

“Oh.” You rub the back of your neck, your palm still tingling with his kiss. “I dunno.”

Playfully, Paul pouts. “I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

God, you were going to melt if he kept this up. You stutter out an answer and, if possible, his grin grows. You huff—pseudo-annoyed, but you couldn’t deny that he was charming.

“Do you want to come in?”

“He can’t.” Star appeared behind you, face clear of all tears. What replaced it was a sneer, one that rivaled the look she gave Olga. “Break is over. We’ve got to head back to class.”

Paul shrugs nonchalantly, “Ms. Emerson loves me. She won’t care if I’m a few minutes late. After all, she is the one who sent me to, uh, _welcome_ the new student.”

“I can guarantee your welcome will be less than satisfactory.” Star slung her dance bag over her shoulder and pushed past Paul. “I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

Reluctantly, Paul allowed her to push him back, but he didn’t tear his eyes away from you. “I’ll definitely see you later.”

Your cheeks heat up and you slam the door shut. You stay like that for a moment before sliding to the floor, knees pressed to your chest.

At some point, you must’ve fallen asleep.

You don’t remember going to bed, or even closing your eyes, but you on your mattress, staring at the ceiling. The room was nearly pitch black, save for the sliver of light cast on the floor. You checked the time. It was 4:34 p.m.

Star was deep asleep. You could hear her breathing from where you laid. Deep and rhythmic. You might’ve allowed it to lull you back to sleep, had you not been seized by a feeling of anxiety.

The restlessness returned in full force, slithering into your muscles like venom. As much as you wanted to sleep, you couldn’t. You tore open your dance bag and slung your shoes over your shoulder, tucking your toe pads inside of them, before setting off.

The halls were dead. The only sound was your soft footsteps, gently tapping against the hardwood floors. You followed your memory and entered the small studio you’d been in yesterday evening. The lights were off, and with no windows, it was impossibly dark, but you didn’t need light. Its emptiness paired with the darkness only increased your desire to move.

Here, you didn’t have to worry about prying eyes. Here, you didn’t have to worry about being the dead girl’s replacement. It was just you and the silence.

You made quick work of your pointe shoes, a new pair that you’d been furiously sewing on the plane ride. They weren’t broken in yet, which meant now was a perfect time.

It takes you a while to stretch and break the shoes into the point where they’re not so stiff, but the moment you feel ready, you launch yourself into a music-less dance. You move on the fly, a flurry of turns and leaps. Your movements are borderline sloppy, but you don’t care. You don’t stop until you collide with the barre, gasping for breath. The ache in your lungs feels amazing. The pressure in your toes is blissful. Pain is liberating. It grounds you and sets you free at the same time.

You smooth your hands across your hair, breathing deeply. None of it matters when you dance. Not the circumstances of your enrollment, or the fight with your mother. It’s all meaningless.

“You know, it’s against the rules to be out of bed at this hour.” Whirling around, you shriek, clapping your hand over your mouth. The boy flips on the lights, revealing himself. “You could get in a lot of trouble.”

It’s the boy from class—David. He looks exhausted, but his gaze is nonetheless intimidating.

“I ... I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I didn’t know, I’ll just—”

“I didn’t say I was gonna snitch.” He smirks, looking you over, then pushes off the doorframe. “You’re the new girl, the one who took Pat’s place.”

You swallow hard at the mention of her name, but nod.

“I’m David.”

“I know.”

“You know?” He raises his eyebrows.

You wished you would’ve shut your mouth, but it was out in the air, now. There was nothing else to do but accept it. “Star, she told me. You’re an amazing dancer.”

David chuckled, shaking his head. He didn’t seem surprised in the least, or humbled by your comment, but something else entirely. Something you couldn’t quite place and could only describe as arrogance. He stalked towards you, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweats.

He stopped a mere foot away from you, icy eyes raking up your body. Your gaze zeroed in on his chest and the tightness of his black T-shirt. _Fuck_.

You were acutely aware of how sloppy you were dressed. You wore a baggy sweatshirt, which you’d worn on the plane, and a pair of old leggings that were ripped in various places. Subconsciously, you smooth your hair.

David’s lips quirked upwards. “What’s your name?”

You find it odd he’s asking you until you remember he hadn’t shown up until after Ms. Tanner introduced you to the class.

“Y/N.”

He repeated your name slowly, tasting it on his tongue. “A pleasure. I hope we’ll see more of each other in the future.”

“I doubt it.” You shift your weight. “I’m not in any advanced courses.”

“You’re on scholarship, right?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged. “Then we’ll see more of each other than you think.” The way he said it let you in on the double meaning. He half-turned, but stopped to add. “You should head to bed. It would be a shame for you to get in trouble your first night.”

His wolfish grin sent a wave of molten heat through you. You lick your lips, voice soft, “You’re probably right.”

“C’mon.” David extended his hand to you. “I’ll walk you back.”

The two of you didn’t say much, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, you felt ... relaxed in his presence, if that was possible. Try as you might, you couldn’t keep your curiosity at bay. All those things Star said about him and his brothers, didn’t seem like they could be true. Here and now, David seemed like a perfect gentleman. Albeit, a bit of a tease, but nothing to warrant such animosity.

David seemed to know which room was yours without you saying. You didn’t think it was that odd, considering he’d been here longer than you. He probably knew you’d be rooming with Star, and where Star’s dorm was.

Still, you said, “This is me.”

David leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He raised his eyebrows as if to say so what? And, honestly, you didn’t know. If you were smart, you’d go right in, but a part of you didn’t want this to end ... not yet.

You mimicked his stance, leaning against the opposite door frame, and gave him a tired smile. “Thanks,” you say. “For walking me back and for, uh, not saying anything.”

He licks his lower lip, icy gaze half-lidded. “You’ve got an awful lot of faith in someone you don’t know.”

“Maybe,” you laugh. “But I trust my instincts. They haven’t been wrong before.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“No.” You shake your head, stepping closer. “You’re a good guy. I can tell.”

David’s lips quirk upwards. His expression shifts into that of acceptance, and then goes blank. You’re pinned against the door before you can blink. He braces his arm beside your head, his other grabbing your chin.

“You’re naive.” The playful tone he’d used up until this point vanishes completely and is replaced with cold sadism. “That’ll get you in trouble someday.”

Your breath hitches. Unconsciously, your eyes flit to his lips. If he moved an inch, they’d be on yours. You didn’t know how to feel about that.

David notices this and scoffs. He releases your cheeks, but his hand doesn’t stray far, finding home on your left breast. “You’re heart’s going crazy. Is it because of me?”

Not trusting your voice, you nod. He smirks, skimming his hand over your _décolletage_ before wrapping around your neck. The contrast between your body temperatures makes you shiver. His skin is cool against your overheated flesh. The hair on your arms stand on end.

David nudges your nose with his own, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re too tempting... I can’t resist.”

You think he’s going to kiss you, but he doesn’t. He tilts your head back, baring the column of your neck to him. He traces the outline of your jaw with his lips, then goes further ... and further ...

“Just close your eyes, Y/N,” he whispers.

And, you do.


	2. Chapter 2

When you wake up later that evening, you know something’s wrong. You’re weak—the sensation hits you immediately. In fact, you were consciously aware of the weakness before you even opened your eyes.

For the longest time, you lay there. The mere thought of standing makes you shake. You feel like you’re on fire—yet your fingers and toes are freezing. A cool sweat trickles down your forehead.

_Shit_. This isn’t good.

You practically throw yourself out of bed, black spots dancing in your vision. Staggering to the bathroom, you clutch the sink with a white knuckle grip. You look _dead_. Your skin took on an ashen hue, lips bloodless, and chapped. The bags under your eyes were prominent against your skin, so dark they were _purple_.

You double over and retch into the basin. As soon as the nausea passed, you throw on the tap and rinse your mouth out. You splash it on your face, hoping that it might freeze out whatever illness this was.

Blindly, you reach for a towel and pat your face dry. You can’t be sick on your first day. Not _here_. You continue to furiously dry yourself off when you touch a sensitive spot on your neck.

You swear under your breath, flinching. Tentatively, you touch the spot again. “ _Shit!_ ”

You discard the towel and lean as close to the mirror as possible. You push your hair back. There’s something behind your ear. A scab or something. You run your fingers over it as lightly as possible. There are two of them.

“What the hell...?”

The dorm door opens and shuts. “Y/N? You up?”

“Yeah,” you call back. You drop your hair and stumble out into the bedroom. “I’m just...”

Before you can finish, your knees give away beneath you, vision going black. Distantly, you hear Star shouting. “Y/N?!”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Star.

You try to smile, but it comes across as a grimace. “Fine. I promise.”

Judging by the look on her face, she didn’t believe you. Star pushed around her porridge, lips pinched tightly together. After your near-faint episode in the dorm, Star tried everything in her power to get you to go to the nurse. You, of course, refused.

“Nobody’s going to care if you can’t start today,” she pointed out.

“ _I_ care.”

She rolls her eyes, “If you’re sick, the teachers want you to miss.”

“I’m not sick.”

You shovel the porridge into your mouth. It was bland, but you didn’t care. You didn’t have much of an appetite after you threw up. Eating was for Star’s benefit. If you had it your way, you’d have skipped altogether, but she was already being a pain so you’d rather not give her any more ammunition.

The doors swung open. David, Paul, and two other boys sauntered inside. David glanced your way briefly and butterflies swarmed your stomach. After the events of the evening, you nearly forgot about your tryst.

_You’re too tempting... I can’t resist._ You could still hear his voice, low and seductive. You could feel his hand on your throat, thick fingers caressing your pulse point. _Just close your eyes, Y/N._

It must’ve been your head, the lightheadedness affecting your memory because you couldn’t quite remember what happened after. You can remember his lips on your skin and his hands on your body, they were phantom sensations. You assume he kissed you but you can’t picture the moment.

Actually, everything that happened after he walked you to your door was a haze. You couldn’t even remember going back to bed.

Maybe you _should_ go to the infirmary.

David smirked and looked away. He said something to his group and they laugh.

“... Y/N. Y/N, are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, yeah of course I am.” You play with your food, frowning. “I swear, Star, I’m fine. If it gets too bad, I’ll stop.”

Star relented, “Okay. Just take care of yourself. What’s your first class?” You pass her the schedule sheet, which she carefully looked over. “Technique with Tanner. You’ll be in worse shape than before. Then partner work with Emerson. She’ll be understanding if you have to stop.”

You refrain from telling her, again, how you’re not going to sit out another day.

Star wasn’t kidding. You knew Tanner was a menace—you’d learned that much yesterday when you shadowed with Star—but being on the receiving end of her wrath was an _entirely_ different thing. Any time you felt the slightest bit weak or attempted to ‘cut corners’, so-to-speak, the old bat was on you.

“ _More_!” she demanded. “Higher! Finish your movements!” And so on and so forth.

Technique left you shaking, feeling like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time. Black spots danced in your vision. Every attempt to blink them away was futile. Nausea came back, full-force, and it took everything inside of you not to puke on the floor.

You staggered into your next class, leaning on the wall for support. This earned you a few looks, but you could care less. The studio was half-filled by the time you made it inside. Most students were in groups, some of them already with, who you presumed were, their partners while they warmed up.

You brace yourself against the barre, hands trembling. You could get through this. It was a simple class. Only an hour and a half until the lunchbreak. You’d take off to your room, you decided, and nap for the duration. Maybe then you’d recover enough strength for the rest of your lessons.

Lucy leaned against the pianoforte, smiling like the sun. “Welcome, everyone. Remember, bags against the back wall. Very good, I hope you all are having a good night so far. We’ll get started in just a moment, give the others some time to make their way inside. Please start warming up. We’ve got a lot to cover today.”

Water. You needed water. Your throat burned, tongue feeling like sandpaper. You clutched the barre as you lowered yourself to the floor and grabbed your water bottle. You drained it all in one go, but it didn’t help your thirst.

A girl knelt by your side. “Hey, are you sick?”

She stood as you stood, watching you like a hawk.

“No,” you murmur. “Lightheaded, ‘s all. ‘m fine.”

God, it was hot in here. Sweat beaded along your forehead, which you quickly wiped away. Maybe Lucy wouldn’t mind if you stepped out for a moment. You needed more water, something to ease the burning in your throat. At this rate, you’d faint from dehydration.

You focused on the door. The last person to file in was a boy. You recognized him from the company class you’d gone to with Star. It puzzled you what he’d be doing in a class like this, but you remembered that some company dancers took the regular classes as well.

His long, black hair was pulled back into a sloppy bun. He stood out among the other dancers, and you couldn’t tell if it was his air or the fact that he was shirtless. You bit your lip. _Damn_.

“Good. We’re all here now.” Lucy claps her hands together. “Everyone, get with your partners. Y/N, you’ll be with Dwayne.”

She gestures to the shirtless boy, who was already staring at you. Those dark eyes of his were every bit as intense as David’s, and just as unreadable. Of course you would be paired with the most handsome guy for partner work, today of all days.

If you’d been feeling a bit better, you would’ve smiled or waved or done something instead of staggering towards him. Dwayne meets you halfway.

His brows pinch together as he takes you in, holding his hands out for you to take. “You okay?”

Forcing a smile, you hum. It doesn’t change his expression in the slightest, so you ignore it. You’re fine. You can make it to the end of class. Everything’s going to work out.

Dwayne positions himself behind you two as Lucy spells out the combination. She calls forward a pair to demonstrate.

Your heart thunders in your own ears. Inhaling deeply, you try to calm your nerves, but it does nothing more than increase your dizziness. The room begins to spin. You swoon, but Dwayne catches you. He plants his hands firmly on your hips. It sends a jolt of electricity down your spine, momentarily assuaging your pain.

His hands are _cold_. It’s heavenly against your super-heated skin, and you unconsciously lean against him, seeking relief. You bite back a moan. Dwayne squeezes your hips, steadying you.

He looks at you through the mirror, his voice low. “You should sit down.”

“I’m _fine_.”

Dwayne frowns. He opens his mouth to say something, but it dies on his tongue.

Lucy claps her hands, signalling the pianist to start from the top. “Now everyone.”

You put yourself in position, rolling your shoulders back and elongating your neck. You wait for an eight-count and then move. Your head is spinning faster and faster. A lump forms in your throat. Everything is too hot and too cold, the fluorescent lights are blinding, the sound of the piano is murder on your skull.

You fall out of the pirouette, knees buckling. Someone screams. The music stops.

The black spots melt together and your vision goes dark. You know you should’ve hit the ground by now, but something soft cushions your landing.

You wake in an all-white room. Your head feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, your mouth is beyond dry, and everything hurts. Your muscles ache from overexertion.

“Good, you’re awake.” A man is standing over you, stethoscope dangling from his neck. Lucy is there, too, as is Ms. Tanner and a few other instructors you’d yet to meet. The man smiled jovially, “You gave us all quite the scare.”

You try to lift yourself, but the doctor stops you. You ease back down onto the pillow, feeling all together too small compared to them, like a child.

“Where am I?”

“The infirmary,” said Lucy. “You had an accident in class. You fainted, but don’t worry. Everything’s okay.”

_Oh_ , _yeah_. You could remember that, now. How dizzy you were. The room spinning. Dwayne.

Much of the evening came back in flashes, nothing fluid. It was one big haze. You could remember waking up sick. You thought you went to the cafeteria, but you weren’t sure. You remembered bits of Tanner’s class, and Dwayne’s cold hands.

Your head ached the more you thought on it. You rub your forehead to abate the pain.

“We think it was an extreme bought of anemia. Nothing to worry about, the worst of it has passed,” said the doctor. “However, I think it’s best if we keep you in here for observation. Not for long. Two weeks at most. I’m putting you on a diet, preferably one you’ll keep up on for the rest of your time here, but we’ll start with two weeks and see how it helps. I’m prescribing some iron tablets for you to take. Three a day, one with each meal.”

The doctor turned to Lucy and the others. “For the next week or so, she needs to only consume iron-rich foods. Leafy-greens and lean meats are preferred. We need to build up her iron count, it’s dangerously low. We need to fix that as soon as possible or else this,” he motions to you in the bed, “will become a common occurrence.” The doctor faces you. “How old are you, my dear?”

You tell him.

He hums, pursing his lips. “I think red wine will do you some good. A small glass, of course, only at dinner time. Red wine helps build the red blood cells, something you sorely need.” He smiles and pats your knee. “No need to look so worried. As long as you follow my instructions, you’ll be back to normal within the week!”

Star slips into your room. “Is it true?”

You’d been bored out of your skull until she arrived. The teachers had been super strict about you not attending classes for the rest of the day lest you have a repeat flair up. Star’s entrance was a welcome change.

“Is what true?”

“They’re saying you had a seizure in the middle of class.” She drops her dance bag on the floor and sits on the bed. “That you were bleeding from, like, everywhere.”

You frown, “Nobody told _me_ that.”

“I knew you should’ve rested—I told you you should’ve come in earlier to get checked out.”

“Star, I’m fine. I just fainted. They think it’s anemia or dehydration or something. Besides, I wasn’t hurt. Not seriously, anyway.”

“That’s the other thing. They say you fainted directly onto Dwayne. He caught you right in the middle of a lift or something and then he carried you to the infirmary himself.”

Again, you shrug. Though you couldn’t recall all the details of the class, you knew some of that was false. “All I know is I woke up here. They didn’t tell me how I arrived.”

Star sighs, pity in her eyes. She gives your leg a squeeze. “How are you feeling? They give you anything?”

“Better, I think. Exhausted.” You shake your head, rubbing your temples. “They’re putting me on a special diet to help build my blood. Spinach and wine.”

“Wine?”

You shrug, “The doctor says it’ll build up my blood. Hey, can you pass me that water?”

“Sure.” She grabs the pitcher and a plastic cup, filling it.

You accept it gratefully and chug it. The one thing that hadn’t lessened since you woke was the thirst. No matter how much water you drank, you never felt any better. You’d been dehydrated once before, on a vacation with your family. It felt similar to this and it had taken you a while to recover.

Star rubbed your arm affectionately. She frowned when she saw your bags tucked up in the corner. “What’s all this? They moved you out?”

“Yeah, I guess. Just for the time being.” You lay the cup on your side table. “The doctor says he wants to keep me for observation for a week or two.”

“That’s bullshit, you’re not contagious,” she insists.

“I dunno what to tell you.”

You’d never been one to argue with doctor’s orders. You were the type of person who followed their instructions to the letter. If he thought you needed to say, no matter how insane it sounded, you weren’t going to challenge it.

Star, on the other hand, was livid. “I’ll talk to Ms. Emerson about it. They shouldn’t lock you up in here like a leper. Besides, the doctor’s rarely here. You’re just going to be by yourself.”

“It’s fine, Star. Really.”

Before she could protest, the door was pushed open and a gaggle of boys poured in. No, not just any boys, but David and Paul and Dwayne ... and another one you hadn’t met yet. Dwayne carried a tray full of food while the others crowded behind him, shoving each other and laughing about something.

Silently, Dwayne gestured towards your lap, a non-verbal _do you want it now?_

“Sure, thanks.” You accepted the tray from him, situating it in your lap better. “And thanks for class.”

Though you still didn’t know the full story, you had a feeling Dwayne did play some role in it. He nods and says nothing, but his gaze doesn’t waver from your form. You chide yourself inwardly for being glad he’d yet to put on a shirt.

“Star,” says David, a lazy greeting. His eyes flick to you. “Y/N. How’re you feeling?”

“Getting better.” You rub the back of your neck, “Really, I don’t know what happened. I don’t need to be catered to, I’m sure I’ll be better by tomorrow.”

He gave you a look, eyebrows raised. “It’s better you don’t strain yourself. We wouldn’t want a repeat performance.”

“What are you doing here, David?” Star seethed.

“Am I not allowed to visit a fellow student?”

They glared at one another. Neither blinked. Neither moved.

Wanting to avoid the tension, you turn your focus to your tray. You picked at your food, noting the heap of kale and bacon. A cup of delicious smelling red wine sits in the center.

Finally, David spoke again, “Actually, Lucy assigned us to be her, uh, _caretakers_ for the time being.”

Paul knelt by your side, propping his elbows up against the bed. “We can make a game out of nursing you back to health. What do you think about a little doctor/patient role play.”

He wiggled his eyebrows, but Dwayne smacked him on the back of the head before he could say anything else.

“Ouch! _Dude_.”

David changes the subject. “Y/N, I don’t think you’ve met Marko.”

He gestured to the previously unknown boy. His blond curls cascaded down his back in a sloppy ponytail. He wore a tight, white shirt and dark leggings like the others. He was biting his thumbnail, looking at you with a strange glint in his eyes.

“Hi.”

Marko waved, “Hi.”

“Marko works in the costume department, too,” said David. “The two of you will be seeing a lot of each other. When you’re better, that is.”

“You won’t have to worry about looking after Y/N,” interrupted Star. “I’m going to talk to Ms. Emerson about having her move back into our room.”

David smirked. “Be my guest, but her orders come from higher up.”

“Higher up?” you echo.

He nods. “The director.”

Star clenches her jaw and didn’t argue. Something shifted in her, subduing her fiery nature.

This was the first time someone had mentioned the director. All of the strange stories surrounding him made you curious. You hoped you would meet him soon.

“We’ll leave you to rest,” said David, heading for the door.

Marko went next with a playful, “Good morning, Y/N.”

Paul, who was still knelt beside you, picked up your fork. “You know, I’d be more than happy to feed you myself—”

But Dwayne forcefully hauled him to his feet, pulling him out of the room. They shut the door when they left. You watched them go, curious. There was something about them ... you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it was familiar. You couldn’t shake the feeling of deja vu that clung to them whenever they were around.

“What’s that?”

“Huh?”

“No. Turn back around, like you were a moment ago.” You followed her instructions and Star crawled closer, scrutinizing something on your body. She reached out and touched a spot just under your ear and you hissed. “Sorry.”

You knew what she must’ve saw. Those two scabs. “I woke up and they were there,” you say. “I’ve got no idea how it happened. Maybe I scratched myself in my sleep.”

She didn’t touch it again but stared at it long and hard before pulling back. Her expression was unreadable. “Have you been alone with anyone? Maybe one of _them_?”

You think back to the morning. _Alone_ _with_ _David_. Your maybe-kiss.

“No,” you say. “No, only you.”

Finally, you pick up the wine and sip it. It tastes _good_. Something about the drink abates the burning thirst that you have and you guzzle it down. You’d never been much of a wine-drinker before, only at the occasional party or celebration. It wasn’t your favorite. But, maybe that was because you’d never had one as good as this. Or, maybe it was your anemia.

Star eyes you carefully. When you’ve drained the glass, she takes it from your hands and inspects it. She turns it over in her hands, noting the last drop of wine in the bottom, then brings it to her nose to sniff. Her face clouds over and she sets her jaw.

“I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you fought sleep. You tried to focus on the book in your hand, but it was nearly impossible. The words blurred together until they were nothing but a mess of indistinguishable letters, just black lines on a white page.

You blinked hard, but as soon as your eyes closed you had to fight to get them back open. God, you’re exhausted. The over-frosted window glares back at you. It's still night out. The sun isn’t due to rise for a few more hours. Star said she’d come back—but the longer you lay there, the less you’re able to control your body.

Finally, you stop fighting.

Your hands fall lax, the book clattering to the floor, but the sound doesn’t bother you. You’re already too far gone ...

You wake in a room, with bizarre red lights. At first, you think you’re alone, but you know that’s not possible. You can feel the presence of the others all around you, their eyes boring holes into your head.

_Don’t turn around._

Whatever’s behind you is a beast. It won’t kill you if you don’t look at it. As much as you want to shut your eyes, you can’t. You force them to stare at the craggy cave wall.

_Don’t blink._

Shutting your eyes would be as bad as turning around. The moment you let yourself relax, the wolves will descend. Your eyes are burning. You need to blink. A tear runs down your cheek. You can’t do it.

And then—you hear it. Wheezing, labored breathing which sounds more like a growl than anything human. Its breath fans across your neck. You should run, but your muscles are paralyzed in fear. Instinctively, you know the moment you move, it will grab you and drag you down to the Hell from whence it came.

_Don’t even breathe._

The beast licks your neck, right over your pulse point. It leaves a trail of sticky saliva in its wake. Inwardly, you shudder but stand your ground.

_Don’t turn around. Don’t blink. Don’t even breathe._

The beast speaks, “Are you sure she’s the one?”

“Yes,” says a familiar voice. “It’s her. There’s no doubt.”

“Hmph.” The beast runs its claws along your bare shoulders. “I’ve yet to be convinced, you acted too soon.”

The second voice snarls, “Do you think I’d forget her face? That we’d forget her face?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” condescends the beast. “You boys are too eager. You haven’t considered the repercussions of acting this rash ...” It takes hold of your wrist, twisting it uncomfortably so it can bite you. You wince, biting back a squeak of pain. It pulls back after a moment but doesn’t release your arm. “I’m afraid I can’t accept this. I’ll have to dispose of her.”

“No!”

The beast leaned in again and you strained to keep your gaze facing forward. In your periphery, you could see its head. Tears spilled down your cheeks. _Don’t turn around. Don’t blink. Don’t even breathe._

“Look at me, sweet girl,” it purred. “Open those eyes and look at me.”

You refused to turn your head. A sob threatens to seize your body, but you hold firm. 

“Come, now, Y/N, don’t be stubborn. Look at me with those pretty eyes. I _know_ you can hear me.”

A bead of sweat tricks down your neck. Your resolve begins to waver. Ever so slowly, you turn your head, each movement making you more and more afraid. You can see the outline of his blackened figure. The red light flairs. And then, the beast jumps you.

You shoot upright in bed, choking on a scream. The familiar four walls of the infirmary stare back at you. You’re not inside a cave and there is no red light. Most importantly, there is no beast.

Sunlight tries, in vain, to permeate the glass. The clock on the wall reads 3:30. You’re safe. It was just a dream.

You clutch your head, laughing softly. What’s gotten into you? It must be your anxieties about the new school. You certainly didn’t make a very good impression yesterday.

You groan and flop back against your pillows. With your luck, your evening will be even worse than the one before. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all...

You shift to your side in the little bed, prepared to go back to sleep, but a jolt of pain makes you cry out. You clamp your hand over your forearm, hissing. You pry your palm away and inspect the damage.

Two, ragged tears in your skin, the edges already scabbed over. Your stomach drops. You stare at it until the image is burned into the backs of your eyelids. Its placement is not coincidental. It’s the exact spot where that beast bit you in your dream.


	3. Chapter 3

“You know, I can walk without you holding my hand.”

“You? A fall risk? Walking on your own? No way.” Marko squeezes your hand, shooting you a teasing grin as he leads you deeper into the stacks.

The costume department is a labyrinth, filled with a kaleidoscope of colors and glittering jewels. The scent of stale lavender and sweat hangs in the air, a combination brought by careful steaming and multiple dryer sheets stuffed in their garment bags. Marko didn’t tell you what you were after, just snatched you up the moment you walked through the doors.

Due to your ‘accident’, affectionately named by the school staff, you were prohibited from starting your job for another two nights. This marked your first one of active duty, and Marko took great pleasure in showing you the ropes. And ribbons. And buttons. And so on. 

“Here we are.” He stopped in front of a section of costumes, a paper label above them reading _Rite_ _of_ _Spring_. He pulled out a couple and passed them to you before grabbing a few more. “We’ll take this upfront. Do you have much experience with sewing?”

“Mainly with pointe shoes.” You shift the costumes to your other arm, accepting more from Marko’s hands. “I’ve sewn a few ripped leotards but nothing major.”

“This won’t be much different,” he states, “We search the costumes for any tears, rips in the seems, or missing gems. We rarely have to deal with anything major. If the damage is too big we’ll toss it.” Wiggling his eyebrows, he adds, “Think you can handle it?”

“I’ll manage.”

The two of you head back to the front of the department. They’ve crammed several desks together into the small front of the room. Most of the room was taken up by various fabrics and costumes. Marko directs you where to lay the costumes. You sit on one side of the desk and he takes the other. The department supervisor sits a few tables away, making quick work of bedazzling a costume. The two of you work in relative silence until he speaks up.

“They’re holding auditions for the company, soon.”

“I saw that.”

Although the company had already done their official auditions back in August, they were ‘re-opening’ them (used in the loosest sense of the word). It was all because of Patricia. She was a senior member of the company and a favored soloist, much like Star.

Normally, auditions were cut-throat, but considering they were only looking for one new member, it would be an all-out war. Only third- and fourth-years were brave enough to audition. There was no rule prohibiting the first- and second-years from trying, but it was understood that none of them ever made it. No outsiders, not unless you were specifically asked by the director.

Marko throws a glance in your direction. “You should do it.”

“Do what?”

You prick yourself with a needle, swearing under your breath. Luckily, it was shallow. No blood. The department head would murder you if you bled all over the fabric.

“Audition,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh.”

You wouldn’t deny that you considered the idea. If you were in the company, they paid you. Granted, it wasn’t much, but it was more than you were making now (which was nothing).

“I dunno.”

Marko paused his stitch work. “Why not? You’d do great.”

“You’ve never seen me dance,” you point out. “I could be _awful_.”

“David’s seen you dance, and Dwayne’s your _pas_ partner. They both say you’re good.”

Your face heats up. They talk about you? To each other? You’re not sure if you like having this knowledge or not.

Marko notes your embarrassment and bites his thumb, hiding his amusement. “Besides, I have, like, a _sixth_ _sense_ about this kind of thing. I can tell you’re good.”

“What do you want? Nobody lays it on this thick without having an ulterior motive.” you tease, leaning half-way across the table. “I’m a shit seamstress, so it’d be a bad idea to pawn your work off on me.”

Marko leans in, too, his nose inches from yours. “I want you to audition for the company.”

You lock eyes. Neither of you breathes. Neither of you blinks. It’s a silent contest, a challenge. You search his face for the truth, there’s no way that’s the only thing he wants. It doesn’t benefit him in any way—but his resolve is rigid, and his face doesn’t give anything away.

Shaking your head, you concede and lean back in your chair “I’ll try, but there’s no guarantee they’ll accept me.”

“We’ll see about that.”

It’s official: you hate stairs. It’s not like you had a particularly good opinion of them in the first place, stairs were exceedingly dangerous on a normal day. One miss-step and you shatter an ankle. But now, you’ve reached fully formed hatred.

The stairs at TSAD were steep and spiraled around the length of two walls. The mountain of costumes in your hand made it nearly impossible to see around, thus endangering your precious ankles more than ever before. The department head, who was called Cookie (no one knew her real name and no one dared ask), needed to get these to Tanner ASAP.

You volunteered, partially because you felt bad for leaving her short-staffed for those extra days you were out, and partially because the woman didn’t like you. Like, at all. So, to get into her good graces, you courageously took on the task. A task which you sorely regretted.

Somehow, you managed to make it to the ground floor in one piece—no thanks to literally every student who shoved past you on your way down—and started for the offices.

“Y/N!”

You stop short, struggling to find the source. You caught a glimpse of shiny black hair and bright red lipstick. _Olga_. She’s on the phone, which was tucked away under the stairs. She had the receiver pressed to her shoulder.

“A moment of your time, dear?” She picks up the phone again, mutters something quietly, then hangs up. She saunters to your side, smiling congenially. “How are you doing, dear? Feeling better?”

You nod. It had been days since your accident, but even though you’d been doing much better, they still kept you in the infirmary. The only symptom that hadn’t gone away was your unreal thirst, which could only be quelled during the evening when you were allowed the wine. You chalked it up to something bizarre, like a change in the weather.

“Walk with me.”

You shift the pile of costumes in your arms. “I really can’t.”

“Sure you can. It’ll only be a second, I swear.” She places her hand on your lower back and leads you in the opposite direction of where you wanted to go. “I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time with our mascots.”

“Sorry?”

“David,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And Paul, and Dwayne, and Marko—I hear you’ve become rather _friendly_ with him.”

Her tone was accusatory, which struck you as odd, considering she saw them more often than you did.

“Well, Marko works with me in the costume department, and Dwayne’s my _pas_ partner in class. Why?”

“Don’t get so defensive.” Olga pouts, pushing her pencil-thin eyebrows together. “We’re just talking. Friends _talk_ , don’t they?”

 _Huh_. Nobody told _you_ that you were friends. Instead of answering her question, you look anywhere but at her. You really needed to catch Tanner before she got to class.

Before you can escape, Olga pulls you onto one of the couches. “Tell me about them. What do you _talk_ about? What do you _do_ together?”

“Well, um,” you clear your throat. “In pas, Dwayne is really great. Very sturdy. We had to do this lift and half of the guys in there dropped their partners at some point, but Dwayne never dropped me. And Marko, he’s been teaching me some different stitches.”

Olga stares, waiting for more. When you say nothing, she deadpans. “Is that it?”

“Yeah, pretty much. They take turns bringing me dinner but they don’t stay long.” You elect not to tell her about Paul, who is the exception and tries to stay as long as humanly possible before Star comes and kicks him out.

”C’mon, _Y_ / _N_ ,” she bites her lip, nudging you. “Don’t spare the gory details on my account. Tell me. I _want_ to know.”

Your mind flashes to the strange puncture wounds on your arm. You’d been wearing a bandage around your forearm for the past few days. Whenever someone asked, you’d tell them it was an injury from when you fainted. You didn’t know how to explain the truth.

“No, that’s it.”

“Really?” she scoffs. “No secrete trysts? No private lessons?” You shake your head no. “Let me know if they do. They’re the best dancers here, and for good reason. They’ve been here their entire lives.”

“I thought the school didn’t accept anyone under the age of seventeen?”

“They don’t.” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Haven’t you wondered why they, company members, are doing work around the school?”

No. You hadn’t considered that. If they were truly company members then they wouldn’t be assigned menial jobs. They’d be getting paid. They’d be loading up on classes, not spending their ‘spare’ time doing jobs.

“They’re orphans. Rumor around here is that a few former dancers got pregnant, but they couldn’t get rid of the kids, so they abandoned them here.”

“What happened to the moms?”

“Who knows. Besides, it’s just a rumor, but they’ve never disproved it.” Olga gestures around the foyer. “They grew up here. Supposedly, the director adopted them—but, when they were old enough, he put them to work. Guess he didn’t want them ‘freeloading’ or whatever.”

“That’s horrible...”

Olga shrugs. “Maybe.” Overhead, the bell chimes. She stands to her feet. “I’ve gotta get to class. Ciao.”

You struggled to your feet, too. You needed to deposit these in Tanner’s office quickly.

The foyer cleared out fast. By the second bell rang, it was empty. It was the last half of the night, which meant working for you, while non-scholarship students and company members had more class or an early end to their night.

You wandered out into the empty foyer. It was strange, seeing it without any students. Unnerving. Your steps echoed loudly, and you felt out of place. Small.

You paused in the middle of the room. Something ... shifted. Suddenly, the candles and gas lamps went out one by one, plunging the hall in complete and utter darkness. It starts faintly at first, something you think might just be your eyes tricking you in the dark. But then it grows brighter and brighter, a red light, which seems to pierce through the cracks in the walls and floor.

You feel a raindrop. Then another. Then another. It startles you, maybe more than the light does. Craning your neck, you look up to find the source of the drops. The ceiling is lit up bright red as if it were the sun, and there in the center of it all is a mangled body.

All you can do is stare. Your body is frozen, against its will, muscles clenched and a scream lodged in your throat. But you can’t move. You watch as the blood pours from the open wounds on the mangled body, splattering onto the once pristine floor, onto you.

One of the cords holding the mangled body snaps. The second one is not far behind. With each broken snap, two more come, until the body is free falling to the floor.

You regain enough control over yourself to leap out of the way, just as it comes crashing down at the spot where you stood. From down the hall, there is an unearthly growl. You recognize the sound, you’re not sure you could ever forget it. The beast.

“Y/N,” it growls. “Y/N.”

You stagger back, watching the shadow of its hulking form move through the hallway. It was coming for you. You try to run, but you slip on a pool of blood, and you land on the ground hard. Your head smacks the marble floor hard enough that your ears ring and your vision momentarily blacks out.

“You can’t escape, Y/N,” laughs the beast. “It’s too late for that. You must embrace the living dead.”

The corpse twitched. It wheezes, stretching out its hand. With every movement, its bones snap, in and out of place. You try to scramble back, but the blood around you is too slippery. You’re stuck, hot tears running down your face.

The corpse jerks its head towards you and opens its clouded eyes. It’s a girl, you realize. Her flesh barely hangs onto her frame, in some areas completely torn off. She looks like she’s been gnawed on by a wild animal.

Patricia, you realize, this thing was Patricia.

The dead girl staggers to her knees, inching closer to you. She wheezes, each breath sounding more painful than the last. But worst of all was her smile. Yes, she was smiling. It was too broad, displaying a mouth full of sharp, rotted teeth. She stares at you hungrily, blood and drool dribbling down her chin.

For someone so slow, she catches up with you fast, reaching her skin-less hand out to grab you. You kick her in the face, knocking her back, but it doesn't faze her. She swipes at you, laughing.

“Getaway.” You try and kick her again, but this time Patricia dodges. She’s getting faster, if that was possible, grunting with each step. She laughs at you, low and gravelly. She likes this. “Stop it. Leave me alone!”

The beast speaks, its voice booming throughout the room, shaking the very foundation. “The sooner you accept your fate, the easier this will be. It’s only a matter of time before you end up like dear Patricia.”

The room goes pitch black.

Something grabs you.

You shriek, flailing your arms and legs, digging into its flesh with your nails. You're not going down without a fight.

“Hey, stop it. Calm down.”

Your eyes fly open and you find yourself in Dwayne’s arms. You wrench yourself out of his grasp, scrambling back on the floor. The gas lamps are lit again, and the foyer looks like it always did. There’s no red light, no beast, and no Patricia.

Your breathing is stuttered and heavy. You can’t get enough air. You tear at your clothes, but they’re clean. The blood is gone.

“What ... What was that?” you sob.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The room!” You pull your knees to your chest, still looking around with wide eyes. “The room, and—and Patricia, and that voice! What was that? Where did it come from?!”

Dwayne shakes his head. He didn’t see it.

The reality of the situation comes crashing down on you. If he didn’t see it, that meant it was all in your head, like some kind of waking nightmare. But it felt so real! You could still feel blood on your skin and your head hurt from where you fell.

You sob even harder, burying your face in your knees. God, this couldn’t be happening. You’re losing your fucking mind.

Dwayne doesn’t say anything. He sits with you in complete silence, waiting for you to finish. When you calm down enough, he scoots forward and knocks his leg against yours, a silent I’m here for you.

You wipe your tears, laughing bitterly. “You probably think I’m crazy.”

“No.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Just because I didn’t see it, doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.” He pursed his lips. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Numbly, you shake your head. “No.”

You wouldn’t even know where to begin. This is bad. It’s one thing to see these kinds of things while you sleep, but you weren’t sleeping. You were wide awake. Somehow, your nightmares had bled into reality. Maybe you were crazy.

“Dwayne?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t ... Don’t tell anyone about this, will you?” You rub the tender spot on your skull.

“I won’t. Promise.” The two of you share a smile. Dwayne scrutinizes you. “You’re shivering.”

He unzips his hoodie and—big surprise—he wore nothing underneath. Dwayne shrugs it off then drapes the jacket over your shoulders. You don’t have the heart to tell him you’re not actually cold.

You hug the hoodie tighter around your shoulders. “What are you doing out here, anyway? Don’t you have class?”

“Skipping. I was coming to the vending machine when I heard screaming." Although, the way Dwayne said it keyed you in that there might be more to it. “How about I walk you to your room?”

“No, that’s okay, I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Your not. Mark loves me, he’s not gonna care if I miss." Dwayne said this tongue-in-cheek. Mark was the Jazz instructor and a real pain in the ass. He didn’t like anyone. “Besides, I’m helping a student in need.”

You roll your eyes, and Dwayne chuckles. It’s the first time you’ve seen him smile like that and it takes your breath away.

“I’ve gotta make a quick stop to the costume department,” you tell him. “It’s along the way and it shouldn’t take long.” Dwayne stood and offered you his hand. As you stood, something on the floor caught your eye. You crept over, squinting. “Is that ... blood?”

Dwayne knelt and inspected it. It was on one of the black squares, making it impossible to see unless you were right upon it. “Yeah. Must’ve been from where you hit your head.” He frowned, “Maybe you should put off that visit. I’ll get Dr. Verdegast.”

He took your hand and lead you up the stairs, but all the while you were staring at that spot of blood. It was dried, there was no way it could’ve been from you hitting your head. And besides, how did Dwayne know you hit your head in the first place. You never told him.

Ever since you’d been moved to the infirmary, Star had eaten dinner with you. You’re not sure how she managed to slip away but she did, every night, without fail.

Lately, you’d been feeling very exhausted after eating. The stress of a new environment weighed heavily on you—and, with all your other misfortunes, it’s no wonder you were tuckered out by evening time. You finished your wine and pushed around the remaining, undesirable bits of food left on your plate. You felt the beginnings of exhaustion take hold of you.

“You don’t look so good,” she said.

“Rough day.”

Star laid down her fork. “What happened?”

Hesitantly, you told her everything. From the nightmare to today’s hallucinations. You told her about the girl you saw but left out the part where you thought it was Patricia as that seemed in poor taste. You told her about Dwayne and the blood.

Star was silent the whole time. Only when you finished did she speak. “The girl ... What was she wearing?”

“I ... don’t remember, actually. I was a little preoccupied.”

“Was it a nightgown?” she pressed, “Like a slip?”

You frowned, thinking back to the moment. The exact details had become fuzzy as the hours went on. Most of it was jumbled in your head, though that might’ve been because of the heavy-duty pain killers Dr. Verdegast had given you for your head.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I don’t remember. Besides—it’s not like it was real.”

Star clenched her fists. She didn’t look at you, though you could practically hear the cogs whirling in her head. You blink slowly, holding back a yawn.

“What do they want?”

“‘M sorry?”

Star pushed her tray onto the side table, jaw clenched. “First Patricia and now you. It makes no sense.” She took hold of your hand, squeezing it. “Y/N—you need to cut off David and his brothers. I don’t want to see you getting hurt, too.”

It was getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open. “What are you talking about, Star?”

“They think no one notices them. That no one has put it all together, but I have. They’re monsters, Y/N—with no regard for human life. This happened with Patricia in the weeks leading up to her death. They sunk their hooks in deep, and look where that got her.”

You pry Star off of your hand and force yourself to sit up. “What are you trying to say?” She went quiet. “... Are you—do you _know_ something about Patricia’s death?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line.

It was all so absurd! Star blaming David. Sure, you’d only had a handful of conversations with the guy, but he didn’t seem like the type to kill anyone—let alone _mutilate_ them.

Maybe it was the drowsiness, or maybe it was the look of pure terror on her face, but it unsettled you. She really believed that he had something to do with her death?

“If you know something,” you begin slowly, “you should tell someone.”

“They won’t believe me,” she said. “No one believes me. That’s one of the last things Pat told me. _No one will believe you._ ” A silent tear slipped down her face. “She was terrified. It all happened so fast. She ... she was going to tell me that night, she was going to tell me what she knew ... but she never got the chance.”

Icy dread infected your veins. You didn’t like this uncertainty. You trusted Star, she may as well be your only true friend here, but you didn’t like the seeds of doubt she was trying to sow. And yet a small part of you could almost believe her.

Something dropped from the ceiling, right into Star’s hair. She didn’t so much as flinch. You would’ve been fine with not bringing it up—hell, you were sure it was nothing—until another one fell. And another. And another.

“What the hell?”

“I know.” Star looked away, “One of them, or all of them, had to have a hand in it. They knew she was about to tell me something big and they ... they did something.”

Was she not seeing this?

Something dropped into your food. Startled, you looked up. The ceiling was ... _alive_. Writhing. Squirming. Tiny white flakes continued to fall like the paint was peeling, but you knew that wasn’t paint.

You looked back to your tray and there, undulating on your near-empty plate, was a swarm of maggots.


	4. Chapter 4

Quickly, you fling the tray off your lap. It crashes against the wall, sending the maggots flying.

You throw yourself out of bed, sending a spray of maggots towards Star. Furiously, you shake your body, trying to get them off. _They’re everywhere!_

They’re in your clothes and in your hair. They cover the floor and squish under your feet with every step. You scream, scratching obsessively to get them off. It’s futile because they _just keep coming_.

Out. You need to get out! You throw the door open and stumble out into the hallway, slamming against the wall.

“S-Someone,” you croak, “ _help_! There’s ... there’s bugs—!” Your plea dies in your throat as you get a good look at your surroundings.

There are maggots stuck to the walls, wiggling around on the gas lamps and door frames. The ceiling is covered in them and so is the floor. It’s all one, big, undulating mass. Maggots fall from the ceiling like snow, landing atop the students loitering in the hall. But the worst part about it was none of them noticed! The maggots sunk into the strands of their hair, burrowing deeper towards the scalp. They landed on shoulders and faces, but no one wiped them away.

You break into a sprint, tearing down the narrow halls. Your running seemed to agitate the vermin, maggots rained down faster and faster in thick clumps. It was like they were targeting you specifically because they always hit you. Thousands upon thousands of maggots landed on your body. It didn’t matter if you picked off one bug, two more would replace it in seconds. You gave up fighting with them and threw your top over your head and onto the floor.

You rushed down the stairs, careful not to touch the railing or the wall. _Everywhere. Maggots everywhere_. There was no escape. How had the infestation got this bad?

Revulsion mixed with a heavy wave of nausea. You clamp a hand over your mouth as you gag. Bittersweet bile coated your tongue. You’re going to spew, but you don’t want to do it inside. Not with the maggots. It’ll only attract more.

You collide with the front doors and slam your hand against the button which unlocked the door. The doors are heavy, you get them open wide enough for you to slip through, your arm scraping painfully against the ancient wood but pain doesn’t register.

You have to get out.

You have to leave.

Your stomach tightens with the threat of vomit.

The maggots can’t follow you out here.

You leap down the front stairs, landing painfully on the pavement, but you don’t let that stop you. You need to go, run as far from here as you can. The outside is literally a breath of fresh air. Still, you can’t stop. You head for the main road, putting as much distance between you and the school as you possibly can. As you go, you tear off your remaining maggot-infested clothes.

“ _Miss Y/L/N?!_ ”

As if your body was suddenly not yours to control, you come to a staggering halt at the mouth of the drive, unable to make it past the property line. Shakily, you turn around. Though your vision was blurred by tears, you recognized the figure of Lucy and David and his brothers. Other students crowded the doorway, looking at you like you’d grown a second head.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Lucy looks at you with utter horror. “Put your clothes back on!”

“The—the bugs.” Your throat flexes, bile climbing higher and higher.

“ _What_?”

“The bugs, they’re everywhere, I can’t. You need to evacuate the school. Close it, for fuck’s sake—”

Before you can finish, you double over and vomit. Your dinner splatters over the pavement and your bare feet. Another gag wracks your body, and another, and another. You vomit until there’s nothing left, and even then you _can’t_ _stop_.

Your legs give away and you collapse to the ground. Pain blossoms on your knees and elbows but you don’t have the strength to care.

David shoves past Lucy, his brothers following suit. The sound of their approach makes you tense. You skitter back, trembling. “Dav-David, stop! Don’t come any closer! Stop, you’re covered—you need to get them off—”

But ... he wasn’t covered in bugs. None of them were. David knelt in front of you, blocking your nude body from view. “Calm down, Y/N.”

Tears pour down your cheeks. You don’t understand. How did he avoid all of those maggots? It was impossible. “David, they’re _everywhere_. The bugs are everywhere.”

“No,” David says firmly. “ _There’re_ _no_ _bugs_. Not on you, not in the school.”

Dwayne comes up behind you, furiously unzipping his hoodie and tossed it over your shoulders, shielding your semi-nude body from everyone. You jump, but he’s fine. So is Paul. So is Marko. It’s like the maggots just ... _vanished_.

You thrust your hands out, looking over your arms. There’s nothing on you except angry red marks from your nails. It’s like they were never there at all, but you knew that wasn’t true. You could still feel them, where they’d landed on you, in your hair.

“I ... I don’t ... Where did they go?”

“They were never there in the first place.”

Dwayne squeezes your shoulders. He looks pointedly at David, “That’s enough for one night.”

“I’m not crazy,” you insist. “I saw them they were— _everywhere_. I felt them. Ask—Ask Star! She was there, I know she saw them.”

“She’s hysterical,” Marko sneers. 

David shoots him a nasty glare. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

Paul saddles up beside you, pity in his eyes. “We should get you inside, babe. Okay?”

You shook your head. “I’m not going back in there. You can’t make me.”

“You have to.” He crouches so he can look you in the eyes and wipes your tears. “You can’t stay out here all day. We gotta get you back inside so you can rest, okay?”

You glance over your shoulder at the school. There’s a larger crowd gathered. Everyone is straining to get a look at the crazy girl. You shudder and pull Dwayne’s hoodie tighter around your body.

A lump formed in your throat, “You’ve got to believe me ... They were _everywhere_.”

David opens his mouth to say something but Marko cuts him off. “We’re not saying you didn’t see something, but there’s nothing in the school right now.”

Paul grabs your bottoms off the ground and holds them out to you. “Can you put these on?”

You eye the fabric warily, expecting those tiny white monstrosities to crawl out of no where. But it was just a pair of shorts.

“I mean, I don’t mind if you want to go pants-less,” continued Paul, “I like the view, but there are some people here who don’t appreciate a good looking body like I do.”

You took the pants, shook them out for good measure, then slipped them back on.

Numbness takes hold of you as Dr. Verdegast bustles around you, the other instructors, Star (who refused to leave), and the boys were all cramped into the tiny infirmary. You’re exhausted, both mentally and physically, and have long since tuned them out.

The words _mental breakdown_ were thrown out often, along with _stress_ and a few other medical terms you didn’t care to learn. It all boiled down to one thing: you were crazy. Completely, certifiably _insane_.

You’re sure Dr. Verdegast said something to you at some point about pills or dieting, but you couldn’t remember. You’re sure you said something, or made a noise of acknowledgement, but you couldn’t remember. It all passed in an incomprehensible blur.

You were tired, but too frightened to sleep. You were calm, and yet not. They treated you like you were a cornered wild animal, that you’d lash out at any given moment.

At some point they all left, save for Star. She curled up in an uncomfortable looking chair, tucking her knees under her chin. She looked as tired as you felt.

“They were everywhere, Star,” you murmur. “The ceiling ... the walls ... the floor. They were all over—all over _me_.”

“Do you see them now?”

You shake your head, flexing your jaw. “It felt so real. I don’t understand...”

If you stared hard enough at the cotton blanket, you could see them wiggling. You swallow hard, resisting the urge to vomit. They weren’t there. It was all in your head.

“I’m worried about you, Y/N.”

You wince. Everyone was worried about you and your sanity. They felt you were one wrong step away from going full-on basket case. They took away all the sharp objects in the room, the flower vase, the mirror, the side table. They replaced your usual plastic cups with paper. You were one breakdown away from being kicked out.

“I’m tired, Star.” You sink down in your bed and roll over so you’re not facing her. You don’t want any more pity tonight.

She shifted in her seat. “I’m not leaving.”

“I don’t _need_ a babysitter.”

“And how about a friend?”

You didn’t reply. And, for the longest time, neither of you spoke. You almost thought she left, but you would’ve heard the door close. So, you shut your eyes and allowed sleep to claim you.

It was much easier than you first though. Exhaustion took over, wiping out all unnecessary thoughts, and lulled you into a sense of security. You were almost there, drifting in that place between sleep and wake, when you heard a voice.

“Y/N ... What do you know about ...?”

You nodded off, the rest of her sentence drowned out by sleep.

“ _Tombé-glissade-piqué_ into the pirouette, Alexa get back on your supporting leg. Boys, make sure your grip is firm, you’re not going to hurt the, Lift, people, use your core. Don’t sickle!”

You whip around fast, spotting your head in the mirror with each turn. Dwayne’s hold is steady on your waist, keeping you up on your supporting leg. He helps you glide through the air in a _petite_ _jete_ and you land _en_ _pointe_ and _grande battement_ to the back.

Lucy walks the length of the mirrored wall, hands clasped together. She gives corrections sporadically throughout her chant of the combination. Not once does she look your way. It infuriates you.

“She’s avoiding me,” you say to Dwayne.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know.”

The combination ends and you wait in fifth with the rest of the class. Dwayne keeps one hand on your hip the whole time. A part of you is irked by this. Everyone— _everyone_ —is treating you like you’re made of glass. Like at any moment you’ll collapse or have another fit. And sure, it scares you, too. You’re petrified that the moment you let your guard down, something else will happen. But you’d also like it if they just ... let it go.

Class ends and you curtsy to Lucy before gathering your belongings. Dwayne trails behind you, his imposing presence a deterrent for anyone wanting to come up to you and talk. (Which had been happening far too often.)

You turn your head, and a cluster of students quickly turn away. You huff, yanking your bag onto your shoulder. “I wish they’d stare at something else.”

“They’re worried.”

“They’re _annoying_.”

Though you try to out run him, Dwayne matches you pace easily. “I can take off my clothes in front of everyone if it makes you feel better.”

That gets you to laugh. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

The two of you breach the hall, where you will have to part ways, but Dwayne catches you by the wrist, holding you firm. “Get me if anyone gives you trouble. Or, if you just wanna talk.”

His words make your face heat up. You look away. “Yeah. Thanks, Dwayne.”

The corners of his lips twitch upwards and he finally steps away, giving you a small wave before walking off down the hall. You watch him go, before his figure is swallowed whole by the endless swarm of students. You finally peel yourself away, only to bump into someone.

“Shit—sorry.”

“Hey, watch where you’re—oh. Y/N, it’s you.” Olga adjusts her dance bag, her anger dropping away. For a moment, you think she’s going to ask about the incident, you’re sure she’s heard of it by now, but she doesn’t. “When you see Star, give her my thanks.”

“Okay...” Internally, you’re rolling your eyes. _Just tell her yourself_. You start to leave, but Olga blocks your way.

“She didn’t show up to practice and, since I’m her understudy, well ...” she chuckles, blood-red lips curling into a satisfied smile. “Tanner’s pretty pissed about her no-show, but she was very complimentary of me. I might get the part after all.”

Inwardly, you frown at Olga’s words. The way she said it, it’s like she expected you to laugh along with her.

“I’ll let her know,” you say.

“Great.” Olga struts ahead of you, wiggling her fingers goodbye. “ _Ciao, bella._ ”

Like Star, Marko was no where to be found. Cookie’s attitude was worse than ever—like his disappearance was somehow your fault. Apparently, this was the first time he’s missed in years.

Unfortunately that meant you had to pick up the slack, which meant working double time. With the amount of repairs you had to do, you wouldn’t be eating dinner until five o’clock, which was cutting it close.

Lucy’s nephew, Laddie, ran up to you. You’re not sure why he was _here_ of all places, but he seemed to be under Cookie’s care for the day and you hadn’t the courage to ask.

“Cookie says she needs another maiden costume.”

You glance up at the woman, who had one such costume in hand. She appeared to be inspecting it for something. Sighing, you stand. Laddie scampered off while you delve deeper into the stacks.

You didn’t like being alone in this part of the costume department. As soon as you got a row inside, the noises from the front of the room were completely silenced. It was as if you were in a whole other world. The silence set you on edge. Every hair soon on end and your shoulders tensed.

The shelves seemed to be closing in on you with every breath. Tulle scraped your bare arm. The overhead lights flickered. You pushed on, retracing the path you’d come to memorize over the past several days. Ignore the paranoia. Nothing’s wrong.

You keep your eyes to the floor and your steps quick. Your heart thunders in your ears. Beating too fast, too quick. Your ribcage squeezed around your lungs, constricting your air flow.

Something’s behind you.

You catch a glimpse of a dark, shapeless figure in the circular mirror onthe edge of a cubby. You blink, and it’s gone.

It’s an instinct, a feeling. Something is there. It’s malicious energy reaches out to you, seizing your heart and your blood runs cold. You don’t dare look up again, you don’t turn around, you just stair at the ground. Keep going, you think, keep going.

And then you run straight into a wall. Somehow, in your panic, you overshot the Rite of Spring cubbies and wound up at the very back of the department, face-to-face with a cinder block wall.

That same wheezing breath that has haunted your waking nightmares echoes behind you. Somehow, it’s all around you. The wheezing morphes into a demonic guffaw.

You stare unblinkingly into the cinder-block wall, nose inches away from the wall. You squeeze your hands into tight fists, until your nails score the meat of your palm painfully. 

Don’t turn around. Don’t blink. Don’t even breathe.

There’s a screaching noise, something akin to nails on a chalkboard, and you fight a wince. It’s not real, you tell yourself. It’s not real. It’s all in your head, just like the maggots and the corpse. Rationally, you know you should take several deep breaths to calm down. You know you need to turn around and go back to the right rack, grab the costume Cookie required, and go lay down in the infirmary.

“Y/N...”

But you can’t move.

The beast whispers your name like the wind. A soft, barely there rustle. “Y/N.”

You press your trembling lips together in a thin line. You’re not real.

“Y/N.”

“You’re not real.”

The beast chuckles like a raspy air-conditioning unit. It’s taunting you, as if to say oh really?

Your nails break the surface of skin. It stings, but the pain grounds you. You speak again, your voice sturdy this time. “You’re not real.”

“Then turn around.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, a single hot tear falls. No. This isn’t going to go away until you face it.

You move painfully slow, rotating to face your fears head on. Then, you open your eyes.

Nothing.

The slim hall was void of people, save for yourself. You crumple to the ground, knees giving away. Luckily, your back catches the wall, preventing a more painful fall. You laugh, clutching your chest. An overwhelming sensation of relief washes over you. Nothing’s there. Nothing’s following you.

But if nothing’s there, then it’s all in your head. That hits you hard. The voices ... the hallucinations ... There came a point that you had to stop lying to yourself. It wasn’t stress or jet lag or whatever else Dr. Verdgeast wanted to pin this on. Something’s wrong with you.

You bury your face in your knees. Too much. Maybe your mother was right, maybe you never should’ve come. If you’d stayed at home, this probably wouldn’t have hapeened, and even if it did, at least you would be surrounded by people you actually knew, not miles and miles away in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people.

Your ears prick as you hear the sound of something rushing towards you. You barely have time to look up or brace yourself before something big and hairy tackles you.

You shriek, head smacking the wall hard. Pain blossoms from where it made contact and you whimper. Twice in two days, _sunovabitch_.

“Thorn!”

You crack an eye and find that you weren’t being attacked by some demonic beast, but a dog. And the dog wasn’t attacking as much as he was ... checking on you?

The dog crowds your space, slobbery pink tongue lapping at your tear-stained cheeks. Weakly, you attempt to shove him off, but the dog is surprisingly strong.

“Thorn! Come here!”

A second figure comes into view, one you can barely see due to the dog. However, at his owner’s command, the dog stops and scampers over to his side. The man strode to your side and knelt to the ground. His hazel eyes were magnified behind the thick, round glasses he wore. You studied him for a moment longer before coming to the conclusion that you’d never seen this man before in your life.

“I am so sorry,” the man said. He checked you over for injuries before offering you his hand. “Thorn can get excitable around others. It’s rare he’s in anyone elses company so I can’t exactly blame him.”

Hesitantly, you accepted his hand and stood. The man towered over you, taller than any other boy here at TSAD. Your head throbbed with the change in position and you could feel the beginnings of a knot forming.

“‘S fine,” you say. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Are you alright?”

You hum, not really answering him. He’s a strange man. Definitely doesn’t look like he’s a part of the ballet world, or that he’s been out of it for quite some time. His shoulders were too broad and he stood with a slight hunch to make up for his towering stature. His loud, patterned shirt hurt to look at.

“Maybe you can help me; I’m looking for a young man called Marko, do you know him?”

“Marko? Yeah, he works here.”

“Is he—is he around?”

“Well—” You purse your lips, studying the man. “I’m sorry, sir, but are you an instructor here?” The man didn’t say anything. “It’s just ... I haven’t seen you around and I don’t feel comfortable revealing another student’s location unless you’re ...”

“no, I expect you won’t’ve seen me around. I am a member of the board,” he says. He fumbles with something in his coat pocket before withdrawing a laminated card stating his name and TSAD EXECUTIVE BOARD MEMBER in bold letters, “Max Powers, nice to meet you. I’m one of Marko’s legal guardians.”

“Oh.” You accept his hand. “Sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologize. In fact, I find your skepticism refreshing. Many people would answer blindly, but you didn’t.” Max smiles. It’s a little goofy but endearing all the same.

“I don’t think I’ll be much help to you,” you say. “I don’t know where Marko is. Have you checked with the others...?”

“They all said he’d be here. It’s quite alarming that he isn’t, then again, Marko is unpredictable at best. He’ll turn up sometime.” His eyes soften with pity. “are you sure you’re okay, miss...?”

You supply him your name and a spark of recognition crosses his features.

“Oh, yes. I’ve heard about you.”

You wince. So the instructors were talking about you behind your back. It must be bad if an executive board memeber was notified.

“Nothing bad,” he assured you, as if sensing your thoughts. “Mainly from my boys.”

There it was again. First Marko and now Max. If you weren’t so shaken up you might’ve blushed. Discomfort wormed it’s way inside of you. You didn’t want to think about anyone or anything at the moment. You just wanted to go lay down.

Max seemed to see this on your face and smiled sadly. He side stepped, and pulled Thorn to the side with him, allowing you to pass. You manage a smile and walk off, but you don’t get very far before Max calls out to you again.

“If you ever need anything, Y/N, just let me know.”

“Say ‘Ah’.”

“Paul, I can feed myself.”

You reach to take the fork from him, but he pulls away quick. “Nope. It’s my job to make sure you’re eating. Now open up.”

You comply, but not without protest. You open wide and Paul pushes a mouthful of cooked spinach into your mouth. He lingers a little too long, eyes focused on the way your lips wrap around the utensil, before finally pulling away. He dabs the corner of your mouth with a napkin.

“Chew it.”

“Ishe a wot,” you grumble.

He smirks, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, baby.”

You flip him the bird. Paul huffs, grumbling under his breath about you being ‘ungrateful’. You manage to swallow the clump of rubbery spinach and slow him your tongue for good measure.

“Can I have my wine now?”

“I dunno.” Paul drummed his fingers against the glass, holding it just out of reach. “Looks pretty tasty. Besides, I did all the hard work of feeding you ... Don’t you think I deserve a treat?”

“Paul!” But he wasn’t listening. He brought the glass to his lips and gulped it. Your jaw dropped. “Paul, what the hell, man?! That’s so not—”

Paul surged forward, pressing his lips to yours. He caught you mid-sentence, you mouth still partially open. He stroked the back of your head, guiding you to tilt back. He opened his mouth and the wine trickled in. You swallowed instinctively, the drink easing your burning throat. 

But he didn’t stop there; he moved his lips against yours, his tongue swiping across your lip, gathering all the spilled wine before pushing it into your mouth. Your let your eyes flutter shut and surrender to the kiss.

It was easy to give in. Paul had a way of calming your nerves and setting you on edge at the same time. You fist the front of his shirt, cementing him against you. He made a cute grunt of surprise and adjusted accordingly.

Frenzied, your tongues danced twirled together, your bodies rolling against each other. Savage, uncontrollable urges overtook you. You’d never felt this way before, not with anyone. You hook your leg around his waist and flip him onto his back. The sudden move sent your tray of food crashing to the floor but neither of you could be bothered by it.

Paul dipped his hands under the waistband of your sweatpants and grabbed a handful of your ass. He kneaded your flesh in his hand, urging you to rub against his growing erection. You nip Paul’s lower lip, tugging on it as you pull away. He stared up at you through half-lidded eyes and grunted. Paul slid his hand lower and cupped your cunt.

The sensation had you push away, sitting up abruptly. Paul followed, bewildered.

“What? What is it?”

You run your hand over your face, “Something’s not right.”

Paul pulled his hand out of your pants. “Did I do something?”

“No, it’s not you.” You cup your kiss-swollen lips, mind reeling. “Star.”

“Star?”

“She’d be here by now.” You think back to your brief conversation with Olga. Star hadn’t been in class today, and she wasn’t here when you woke up. “Did you see her in class today?”

Paul frowned, “No, uh, no I didn’t. I think I heard that she got sick or something and couldn’t make it.”

“Oh.” 

That was reasonable. She must’ve gotten sick in the middle of the night or something. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. If she was sick wouldn’t she have told the teachers? Olga said she hadn’t heard from her.

“Don’t be worried. I’m sure she’s fine.” Paul put his finger under your chin and made you look at him. “What’s on your mind?”

“She had something she wanted to tell me,” you murmur. “I was too tired to talk yesterday after everything that happened ... And she was trying to tell me something ...”

_Y/N ... What do you know about ...?_ The last word eluded you, clouded by a drowsy memory.

“It must not be important if she didn’t come back.” Paul swipes his thumb over your lower lip and smiles. “You should lay down, Y/N. It’s late and you’re tired.”

You _were_ tired. It hit you full force out of no where. You slouched forward and Paul gently rolled you off him and onto the pillow. He propped his head on his arm, laying beside you. He brushed some hair from your eyes and stroked the side of your face. Your eyes were heavy. You couldn’t keep them open much longer.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”


End file.
